


mnemonics

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Complicated Relationships, Developing Friendships, Forgiveness, Gen, Kylo Ren Redemption, Lies, Mind Wipes, POV BB-8, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Time Skips, Turn to the dark side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “I don’t intend to get into any trouble,” Ben said, sounding so very reasonable. Jedi were good at that, BB-8 had learned very quickly. They justified all sorts of things to themselves and others.





	mnemonics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skipchat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skipchat/gifts).



**+0 weeks post wipe**

BB-8 remembered everything since the moment his awareness circuits were first connected. On that day, his programming seemed to spark to life. Where one moment, there was nothing, the next was him, fully formed, fully understanding. The world flickered into existence around him and he experienced approximately one nanosecond of darkness before his photoreceptor spooled to life and gave him his first glimpse of reality. Another being stared down at him, someone that BB-8 instinctively knew was both the same and different than he was.

Later, he would equate it with being born, though other droids would laugh at him.

“Hello,” the being said. After a cursory scan, BB-8 concluded that he was human and approximately twenty years old if his general datastores were accurate. Black hair fell across his forehead and his nose was a little crooked from an old injury. The boy ducked his head and smiled and ran his fingertips over BB-8’s round chassis. The young man’s nails clacked and caught against the uneven surface, but he didn’t seem to mind. His brow furrowed, shadowing his eyes and his teeth glinted in the light as he bit his lip. He muttered something to himself about a wipe and then tapped his knuckle against BB-8’s dome. “How are you feeling in there?”

_Fine!_ At first, BB-8 wasn’t sure that the man would understand. Something in his programming told him not everyone knew binary. The rudimentary civility protocols installed in him suggested perhaps he should find some sort of interface to communicate through, but when he spun his dome, all he saw was a private room. Not a single comms unit was in sight. Rough-spun wool blankets covered the bed and there was a stone rectangle next to it that held a pad. That might be useful. He began to roll, but the man stopped him.

“Whoa.” He pressed his palm against BB-8’s chassis again. “Just a few more minutes.”

_Can you understand me?_

The man grinned and nodded. He whistled something in heavily accented binary, almost unintelligible—the pitch was all wrong—but enough to get the point across. Yes, he did. BB-8 abandoned his pursuit of the datapad and settled back in.

He thought he’d like it here. The man seemed nice and BB-8 wouldn’t have to worry about trying to make himself understood. _What’s your name?_

He paused for a moment and pushed his hair out of his eyes before tugging lightly at a short braid that sat just behind his ear. He smiled again, more crookedly. “Ben. Ben Solo.”

_I’m BB-8._ He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew that, but he said it with confidence and realized it was true. More than that, he liked his name. _It’s nice to meet you, Ben Solo._

Ben huffed and shook his head. Somehow, BB-8 knew he was more amused than irritated. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Beebee-Ate,” he replied, tone just a shade acerbic. BB-8 didn’t quite understand why he responded that way, but it didn’t offend him either. Instead, he was curious. He wanted to know more about the person crouched before him, looking at him so intently.

_What are you doing?_

“Making sure you’re okay,” Ben answered. He picked up another datapad that BB-8 hadn’t noticed was at his side and plugged the little attachment into a port on BB-8’s chassis. His throat made an odd whirring sound. Or as close to it as a human could get. They didn’t exactly have the right parts to whirr. After a few moments of poking at the datapad, which emitted regular, even beeps, he added, “Looks like you’re good to go.”

He went on to pat BB-8 on the dome before pushing himself to his feet. “How would you like to go on a flight?” His eyes glinted as he said the words and his voice went distant, like he was already amongst the clouds. His thumb rubbed circles on his jaw as his mouth twisted thoughtfully. “Master Luke won’t mind. Probably.”

_I am an astromech_ , BB-8 pointed out. It was one of the only things he knew about himself. _Who is Master Luke?_

Ben smiled. Later, BB-8 would remember that smile and think back on this day fondly. Sometimes, he will have wished he didn’t and on those days, he will have wanted this day to never happen at all. He didn’t know any of that now, though. The joys of awareness, he will suppose.

“You’ll meet him,” Ben assured him. “You might even like him.” He paused for a moment and bit his lip. “But why don’t I show you the hangar first?”

BB-8 trilled his agreement. Hangars were where the ships would be kept. And that meant flying. And like Ben, he knew he loved it, even though he didn’t even know what it felt like yet. Like he’d said, he was an astromech. As he rolled toward the hangar, following quickly on Ben’s heels, he felt contentment for the very first time.

This was what astromechs did.

This was where he was meant to be.

**+10 weeks post wipe**

For a Jedi—and BB-8 still wasn’t entirely sure what Jedi did exactly besides train a lot and never go any place—Ben tinkered a lot. He spent much of his time with BB-8 and not nearly as much time with the handful of other people who made this place their home. Those people called it a temple, but Ben never called it anything at all. BB-8 didn’t know what that was, but most of them took it very seriously. Ben mostly didn’t seem to consider it one way or the other. Instead, he did things like this.

_Why are you modifying your datapad,_ BB-8 asked, _again_. Last time, he said it was because it needed a better processor. This time… BB-8 wasn’t sure what he was up to. Just yesterday, Ben mentioned to another of the students, Aalatha, that it ran great and that Ben could fix Aalatha’s for them if they wanted, an offer that had come as a surprise to BB-8 and Aalatha both.

“Hmm?” His voice had that hazy, distant quality to it again. It meant nothing good when Ben got in these moods, BB-8 had come to learn. His room was dark and he hadn’t stepped outside of it since morning meditation. He hadn’t even come to see BB-8 in the hangar, even though they’d been working on Ben’s ship over the last week. They should’ve been able to finish installing the new ion drive today. If Ben would get moving anyway. “What? Modifying…?” He looked down at the pad in his hand. His breath huffed out in a half-amused gust, but he wouldn’t catch BB-8’s photoreceptor with his gaze. “I’m studying, Bee.”

BB-8 rolled toward the tools and bits of metal strewn about the floor around him. It didn’t look much like studying to him, not like the kind of studying the other students, and even sometimes Master Luke, did. With a disbelieving bleep, he said as much. At that, Ben scoffed and brushed his hand through his hair and he still wouldn’t lift his eyes. He mumbled something that another human might not have heard, but BB-8 could:

“I just wanted to be alone.”

Ben said that sometimes. Often, he said it jokingly, with a smile on his mouth and light in his eyes. But today, right now, BB-8 thought perhaps he did want BB-8 gone. His voice held more viciousness than BB-8 had ever heard in it despite its quietude. His hand didn’t tap gently at BB-8’s dome or push at him playfully. All he did was get back to work. BB-8 considered doing what Ben asked. If he wanted to be alone, that was his right, but something inside of BB-8, something that he didn’t understand, hesitated. A stray bit of code, perhaps, something to be analyzed at a later time. He wasn’t beholden to Ben; he could disobey him within reason. Or, well. He could tell the difference between an order and a request and knew how to react to each.

The only time Ben’s word was law was in the cockpit of his starfighter.

_What about your ship? It’s ready to fly almost. We’re so close…_

Something that BB-8 couldn’t parse crossed Ben’s face. It darkened his features, gave him an unhappy mien. For one moment, he looked older and much troubled. “That can wait,” he said and this time, BB-8 definitely knew better than to argue. This was a tone that brooked no arguments. But though BB-8 knew he should go, he didn’t want to. Not yet. Not when Ben was behaving so strangely. _Can I help?_

“No,” Ben said, clipped, a little harsh, too loud to BB-8’s audioreceptors. BB-8 rolled back, a bit startled, and stared up at Ben. Ben’s features softened and he immediately seemed back to his normal self. With a sigh and a wave of his hand, he floated his equipment to the stand next to his bed and allowed it all to fall gently to the surface. “You’re right. Why don’t we go finish working on the ship? This can wait.”

_You don’t have to._

“I know I don’t have to, but…” Disgusted, he shook his head. “It’s stupid anyway. I have better things to do than…” He gestured at the junk he’d accumulated. “Well, it doesn’t matter.”

BB-8 thought it did matter, but he didn’t want to push Ben when even BB-8 could tell he wasn’t much interested in talking about it. Instead, he feigned cheer and began peppering Ben with questions about the ship, questions that BB-8 already knew the answer to, but would serve well enough as a distraction. After a few moments and a turn down the main hallway that lead to the hangar, Ben seemed almost like himself, chattering unselfconsciously about all the upgrades he had in mind for the ship.

The pad, and what he’d been doing with it, were forgotten.

He followed BB-8 to the hangar bay, never once stepping in front of him despite the length of his legs. It couldn’t have been easy, but BB-8 appreciated it. Everyone else seemed to think he existed to follow them around. They never once let BB-8 lead the way.

It was that as much as anything that made BB-8 so willing to do everything he could to help Ben. No one else would do for BB-8 what Ben did without even noticing. The least BB-8 could do in return was turn his mind from whatever was getting him down.

**+17 weeks post wipe**

They didn’t get to fly much, truth be told, and BB-8 tried not to be too disappointed by that, but he couldn’t deny there was something exhilarating about being plugged into the socket in Ben’s ship, about knowing in a few minutes he’d be in the sky and working on calculations and smoothing out Ben’s own work in the cockpit. He never felt closer to Ben than when they were flying at top speed in the atmosphere or shooting past the exosphere into space itself. “How are you doing back there, Beebee?” Ben asked.

In here, BB-8 could communicate via text if he wanted to and in some ways that probably would have been preferable. Some of the other astromechs did it just because they had to. It never seemed to bother them, but BB-8 liked the fact that he didn’t have to. It was so much easier just to speak to him. _I’d be better if you didn’t tilt so much to starboard. I have to compensate for that_.

Ben laughed, just as BB-8 had hoped he would. “An astromech giving me flight lessons,” he said as the ship tipped to port, evening out and making for much smoother work for BB-8. He beeped his thank you and succeeded in drawing another laugh from Ben. “Most astromechs don’t question their pilots’ techniques as far as I know.”

_The cleaner you fly, the better I can keep you out of trouble_ , BB-8 replied.

“I don’t intend to get into any trouble,” Ben said, sounding so very reasonable. Jedi were good at that, BB-8 had learned very quickly. They justified all sorts of things to themselves and others. “Not inside of a cockpit anyway.” As though to illustrate his point—though BB-8 didn’t see how that was possible because it was illustrating the opposite point—he flipped the ship and then took it through a series of corkscrew motions. If it was intended to startle BB-8, it failed.

BB-8 should have adjusted the inertia dampeners. Just a bit. Just enough that if Ben’s stomach wasn’t strong, he might feel a little nausea, because being that cocky could lead to danger down the road. But BB-8 didn’t, because BB-8 liked Ben and he figured Ben was fine, cocky or not, and anyway, Ben would probably complain about it. He wasn’t intending to be a fighter pilot anyway. BB-8 didn’t have to teach him a lesson. This planet was safe by all accounts. He could mess around and it would be okay.

If BB-8 could put a name to it, his occasional desire to tweak Ben, it would have been vindictiveness. At least of a sort. But BB-8 didn’t yet have the vocabulary and his personality matrix was only just beginning to make the kind of connections it would need for him to truly think to do something like that and justify it to himself or to Ben, should Ben have complained or done something equally unexpected, yet entirely in keeping with the kind of man he was turning out to be. Every day, he changed a bit, just like BB-8 and not always for the best. It made BB-8 feel like they were in this together no matter what.

_Just be careful_ , BB-8 tried. It wasn’t much, he could admit to himself, but it was enough to make him feel like he’d done something.

“I will.”

_Because I don’t want to die in a crash_ , he added.

“You and me both,” Ben said. And then he did something that forced BB-8 to adjust the inertial dampeners a tad bit anyway and BB-8 was too busy cursing up and down the atmosphere as their ship gained far, far more speed than it had any real right to.

_You’re going to burn through all your fuel,_ BB-8 pointed out, entirely reasonable in turn. He’d learned much from the Jedi in that respect. Inside, he wanted to string together every translated curse he knew.

“You’re no fun, Beebee,” he answered before shouting indistinctly in pure joy, a sound BB-8 had never heard from anyone and definitely not Ben, who could sometimes be morose and moody and only dryly amused at the world and people around him. And as time passed, he only grew more moody, more shadowed, and BB-8 had no idea what to do about it or even why it was happening.

If all it took for Ben Solo to feel happiness was a reckless spin in his starfighter, BB-8 could put up with the chance of death. It was miniscule anyway. Especially with BB-8 to look out for him.

_I am, too,_ BB-8 insisted, definitely not pouting. Not pouting at all.

At that, Ben laughed even harder.

He’d had a chance to study organics and laughter should have been a free, frequent thing for them to experience. It shouldn’t have been so difficult for Ben. BB-8 hated that he considered this scrap of exuberance a win. Not when others could give it so freely.

It wasn’t fair.

**+24 weeks post wipe**

“He’s driving me crazy,” Ben was saying, though to whom, BB-8 couldn’t tell. As far as lifesigns went, there was only the one heat signature that BB-8 could sense through the partially closed door. He couldn’t have been talking to himself. Ben didn’t do that. Not that BB-8 had seen anyway. Or maybe he did and BB-8 just hadn’t noticed? Perhaps BB-8 was only noticing because he was doing something that might technically have been snooping and everything seemed a little stranger under those circumstances.

It wasn’t his fault. He’d mostly just been minding his business, rolling through the halls that made up the main temple. Most of the students were still housed here, though Luke intended to make it so that each student had their own huts nearby. The students deserved privacy, he’d said, and safe places to practice their skills, but it was slow going. The huts all had to be built by hand and then furnished with equally handmade chairs and tables because there weren’t enough to go around. Astromechs were good at a lot of things, but construction wasn’t one of them and the only droids around were BB-8 and R2-D2, who wouldn’t have wanted to put up huts even if he could.

BB-8 didn’t see the need for huts—it wasn’t easy to roll around on uneven terrain and he risked getting mud all over him that Ben would then be forced to clean—but he also didn’t have any say in the matter.

But anyway. He was minding his own business. Ben was the one who’d left the door open.

Of course, he’d been the one to stop on his journey through the temple, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Ben sounded thoroughly, angrily done with whoever ‘he’ was.

BB-8 didn’t dare pry, although he could guess; Ben didn’t have many friends, not even amongst the people around him.

“I know he’s my master,” Ben said, groaning. “He’s still a pain in the—ugh, have you ever met a Rebellion hero you didn’t deify? They’re just people. They can be jerks, too. Yeah, yeah. I’m the jerk here, Poe. We know this already. You could maybe sympathize with me here for a minute. Last I checked you were my friend, not Luke’s.”

Poe. BB-8 didn’t recognize that name. It wasn’t anyone from around here. Sometimes humans made up friends, didn’t they? He’d heard that somewhere…

BB-8 tipped his dome. All he needed was a peek to ensure Ben hadn’t cracked, then he’d be on his way. When he did, he saw Ben bent over his bed, elbows on knees, his personal comlink held tight in a clenched fist, a privacy speaker hooked around his ear. Okay, so at least he wasn’t arguing with himself. That was a good thing. BB-8 was going to roll away, truly, but Ben’s eyes flicked up and caught his photoreceptor. Ben was quick to mask his emotions, but not quick enough for BB-8, who saw misery and annoyance and betrayal fall away practically in slow-motion, though for Ben it would only have a fraction of a second.

“Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.” There was a pause and though BB-8 could have listened in, he didn’t. “Yeah, I get it. It’s fine. Look, my droid is—yes, I have a droid. No, I didn’t steal him. Why would you…? I’m going now.” Something that was almost like a smile twitched at the corner of Ben’s mouth, but only for a moment, still long enough for BB-8 to catch. That expression could have existed for a millennium, though, and BB-8 wouldn’t have understood it any better. Weren’t accusations of stealing a bad thing? “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Luke’s just— _Luke_. Bye, Poe.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Tirah?” Ben’s question wavered somewhere between annoyed and pleased, like he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to be and could settle on neither, but didn’t want to give BB-8 the benefit of the doubt entirely.

_I did_ , BB-8 bleated. _That was hours ago_.

“Oh,” Ben answered, scrubbing at his jaw where hair was beginning to grow in. Sometimes, Ben complained about how much it itched and the next minute complained about how difficult it was to keep it from growing in at all. He’d vacillated a few times about letting it go and trying to grow a beard, but the resolution never stuck for more than a day or two. “I’m sure she was grateful for your help.”

_She was_. What BB-8 failed to mention was how surprised she’d been that BB-8 had helped at all. _I thought Ben kept you all to himself_ , she’d mentioned. He’d tried to explain it wasn’t like that, that BB-8 was the one who’d been interested in poking around a few of the other ships in the hopes of helping make Ben’s even better, that he’d told Ben what he wanted and hadn’t asked permission.

Nobody ever understood their relationship. They all assumed BB-8 only did what Ben told him to do.

If BB-8 were human, he might have asked Ben what was wrong, if there was anything he could do to help. He’d seen other humans comfort one another that way. And maybe it made sense. BB-8 often fixed things and that made Ben happy and he, in turn, was happy for having done it. But somehow it always felt uncomfortable for BB-8 to ask the question. Every time he had in the past, Ben had brushed it aside anyway. They shared more than the sort of relationship most droids and organics did, but that didn’t mean…

BB-8 wasn’t sure what it didn’t mean. He just knew that he couldn’t quite trill out the question that buzzed around his circuits and sizzled within his curiosity matrices.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked, peering skeptically down at BB-8. Ben often knew things others didn’t, but BB-8 had learned his powers didn’t work on droids. Most of the time, BB-8 didn’t think one way or the other about that face. Right now, he was glad, because he wasn’t sure he would have wanted Ben to know his worries, his fears.

_Fine_ , BB-8 whistled, scrambling for a distraction. _Just ready to get back to work on our ship_.

Ben managed the tiniest of smiles. “Our ship, huh?”

_My ship maybe_. He paused for Ben’s benefit. _I do most of the work_.

When Ben laughed, his anger from earlier seemingly wiped away, BB-8 counted it as a victory.

He didn’t count the fact that each victory seemed harder to win than the last.

**+40 weeks post wipe**

Sometimes Ben and Luke studied alone, away from the others. Ben had always been the most advanced, the strongest; he’d studied with Luke the longest. And he was often, if Ben’s complaints were to be believed—and BB-8 saw no reason not to—the person against which Luke tested his training techniques. Mostly Ben enjoyed it, took pride in helping his uncle hone and perfect his various teachings, but sometimes…

“You’re not focusing, Ben,” Luke said, strained, extinguishing his lightsaber. The admonishment felt old, worn, the way Luke sometimes looked. Then again, BB-8 didn’t know Luke well and expressions were still difficult for him to distinguish. Maybe worn wasn’t the right word. At least where others were concerned; it was easy to tell how Ben was feeling.

“Ow,” Ben said, pointed. There was a singe on his beige tunic, a charred streak of black across his bicep, surrounded by red, a lightsaber burn. He hissed as his arm flexed and anger flared in his eyes. But he wasn’t paying attention to Luke; his attention was entirely on BB-8. “What are you doing here?”

BB-8’s dome tipped in acknowledgment of the question, though he had no good answer. There was nothing pressing for him to do, no work, not even from the other students. He was bored, but he hadn’t meant to interrupt. And said as much to Ben, well aware that Luke also knew binary, often berated R2-D2 for his coarser assertions as a result. If his response was shy, Ben didn’t castigate him for it. “Sorry, Master Luke,” he answered, off-hand and suddenly cold, like Luke’s complaints couldn’t stick to him. “Do you mind if Beebee-Ate sticks around?”

Luke glanced at BB-8, concerned and curious, and shrugged. “Of course not.” He turned a wry look on Ben, his earlier annoyance transmuting slightly. BB-8 couldn’t guess what it meant. “Perhaps Beebee-Ate should help us train.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between BB-8 and Luke. “I’m sure that’s unnecessary.”

“You’re too easily distracted, Ben,” Luke admonished, crouching to BB-8’s level and beckoning him over. BB-8 didn’t want to go, mostly because he didn’t want to get between whatever was going on between Ben and Luke. It was something he didn’t understand and that made him wary. Still, BB-8 rolled toward the venerated Jedi master. What else could he do? “You let yourself get sidetracked by details that don’t matter.”

Luke leaned close and whispered to him.

BB-8 rolled back slightly and shook his dome.

“Not enough to hurt,” Luke assured him. “I’m sure you can do it.”

BB-8’s photoreceptor turned toward Ben, who rolled his eyes and nodded. BB-8 couldn’t help but notice the dirty look he sent Luke’s way once Luke’s back was turned. “I think I know what Master Luke is thinking. You’re fine, Beebee. Do whatever he asks you to do.”

BB-8 whistled in acknowledgment, a little sad and regretful at having let his interest get in the way. Now, as Ben and Luke squared back up, lightsabers at the ready, BB-8 was supposed to sabotage what Ben was doing! He didn’t like that one bit and he liked it even less once he began winding his way around Ben’s feet, pinching at his boots with his multitool. Ben did well as far as BB-8 could tell, but his skin was growing flushed and his lips thinned in an unhappy slash that only grew unhappier as each moment passed.

BB-8 was annoying him. That was something he hadn’t ever wanted to do to Ben. And it was Luke’s fault.

Distracted now, too, BB-8 wasn’t able to roll out of the way quickly enough to avoid Ben’s boot connecting with his round body. With a thunk, he skidded across the floor, Ben shouting wordlessly and dropping his lightsaber. “Shit,” he said finally, lunging for BB-8 as he fell to his knees next to the droid.

Luke’s lightsaber hummed as Ben hissed again, the edge of the blade near enough to the back of Ben’s neck to sizzle. Luke seemed to loom over him and BB-8 both.

Sneering, Ben ignored the blade and gritted his teeth. “Bee, are you okay?”

_Yes, of course_ , BB-8 said in shaky binary. Not because he was hurt or scared, just startled. His chassis was built to take damage. _I’m sorry_.

“Don’t be,” Ben replied. He kept his tone light, but BB-8 could see the frustration in his eyes, in the thinness of his lips. “It’s my fault. I really do need to pay more attention.” A few strands of hair fell free of the leather thong that held it back, the lock heavy with sweat. He brushed it back, but it paid him as little mind as he’d paid to his surroundings and only swung back into his face. Behind him, Luke extinguished his lightsaber. “I didn’t hurt you?”

_No_.

Ben’s hands ran over the expanse of BB-8’s shell. His thumb swept across each divot and protrusion. If there was a dent, he was determined to find it. 

BB-8 doubted there even was one and said as much and Ben shushed him.

“You’re okay?” Ben asked after a few more minutes’ search.

_I told you_ , BB-8 answered, a little frustrated now himself. _Yes_.

Ben smiled sadly and leaned toward him as Luke watched. “Sorry you got pulled into this.” His forehead almost touched the slight curve BB-8’s dome. This close, BB-8 didn’t even have to scan him to ascertain his temperature, slightly elevated, his respirations labored. “I’ll do better.”

Before BB-8 could formulate an answer, Ben pushed himself to his feet. “Again?” he asked. “Maybe this time we can use a training droid instead.”

Something like concern flashed across Luke’s face, troubled and stormy, something like regret maybe. His gaze flicked between BB-8 and Ben. BB-8 was glad for even that much consideration. He looked as though he wanted to say something and then he shook his head, features clearing. “Thanks for your help, Beebee-Ate. We’ll take it from here.”

Dome swiveling, BB-8 looked to Ben for confirmation. He nodded in return. “I’ll be along later,” Ben assured him. “You can keep yourself occupied for a few hours, right?”

Of course he could, but he didn’t want to.

He didn’t dare say as much.

_Yes, Ben_ , he said instead, feigning enough cheer that the awkward veil of darkness that hovered over Ben’s mood lifted slightly.

“I’ll find you when I’m done,” Ben promised. “Bet you’ll be in the hangar, huh?”

He would be now that Ben had said as much. Just in case Ben did actually come to find him.

He didn’t, but when BB-8 returned to their quarters, Ben was there, staring thoughtfully down at his hands, head bowed. “Hey,” he said, “I was just about to come looking for you.”

BB-8 let the fiction lie. Ben was here; that was what mattered.

**+52 weeks post wipe**

Droids, as far as BB-8 knew, didn’t celebrate milestones. They didn’t need to. Anything for a droid could be turned into a milestone, easily calculated and catalogued down to the nanosecond. Perhaps there were droids out there who cared for such things, but BB-8 hadn’t given it much thought. He hadn’t met many droids that he could remember anyway. Just R2-D2 and a few others who sometimes came to help deliver supplies and such.

But then he found Ben sitting, cross-legged, on the floor of his room. Tools arrayed themselves in a half-circle around him. He beckoned BB-8 forward and said, “It’s been a while since we’ve done a thorough maintenance check on you.”

_I don’t think you’ve ever done a maintenance check_. But BB-8 rolled forward anyway, perhaps curious, perhaps apprehensive. A few of the tools looked sharp. A few more had battery attachments. There was even a tub just big enough to fit BB-8’s body.

Ben smiled. “Come on, you’ll like it. I promise. I know you’ve never had an oil bath before.”

_What’s an oil bath?_

Ben just smiled even wider. “All the more reason.” He picked up a little wire brush and brandished it at BB-8. “You’re looking a little rundown is all. It’s been a year since you came here and I thought it might be nice to do this for you.”

BB-8 did the mental calculation. And Ben was mostly right. It had been one year. A little bit more than that now, the seconds marching forward heedless of Ben’s intent. To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed. _Okay,_ he said, dubious. He had gotten along just fine without oil baths this long. What could he possibly have been missing? _Will it hurt?_

Ben laughed a little, the sound strange and a bit high-pitched before it strangled in his throat. “No,” he managed, “of course not. I wouldn’t—I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes skittered away and unhappiness sharpened the depth of his frown. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I would like at least to take a look at your chassis though. Make sure everything’s good there, okay?”

They’d done that before, but only when BB-8 had actually been damaged.

_We can do the oil bath_.

But even though Ben’s mood lifted slightly at BB-8’s assent, he wasn’t anywhere near as happy as he’d been at first and BB-8 blamed himself for that. Though he didn’t know how or why, he’d hurt Ben’s feelings. These moods, BB-8 had noticed, had begun to linger, to permeate the rest of Ben’s days. It used to be he’d get past his own hurts and quickly enough—or seem to. Now, it took forever for Ben’s spirits to lift.

As BB-8 let Ben scrub and tinker with single-minded focus, he tried to think of ways to cheer Ben up, but no good ideas sprang into existence in his processors. _Thank you for this_ , BB-8 said.

Ben stilled for a moment, his fingers hovering over one of the compartments in BB-8’s frame. “You’re welcome.” His throat cleared. “You deserve it.”

By the time Ben was done, BB-8 did feel better. BB-8 wiggled and spun in the oil bath—as much as the dimensions of the tub allowed anyway—and that got a genuine laugh out of Ben and a teasing admonishment to avoid splashing the rest of the room with the oil. Though he’d felt clean enough before, he hadn’t realized quite how much grime had gotten into the various crevices. Even though Ben sometimes scrubbed at him, he didn’t get into those parts as easily as the bath did.

“We should do this more often,” Ben mused. “I guess I just don’t think about it all the time.”

_You’re busy_ , BB-8 answered. _I’m busy, too_.

“Busy making yourself a nuisance around the temple maybe,” Ben replied, knocking BB-8 on his shiny, clean dome.

BB-8 knew it was a joke, so he let it go. He’d seen some of the younger Jedi pupils make blurting noises at one another with their mouths and BB-8 did his best to replicate it, to Ben’s surprise and delight.

“No more hanging out with Keerai and Ocedon for you,” he said.

BB-8 knew it for the empty threat it was and therefore decided not to dignify it with a reply.

That just made Ben laugh more.

**+70 weeks post wipe**

BB-8 didn’t often rouse himself from low-power mode in the night, choosing instead to replicate the sleeping habits of most of the students here. A few, sometimes Ben included, wandered the halls outside their rooms or even further afield, picking across the rock-strewn pathways with only star- and moonlight to guide them, but BB-8 never followed him and never went off on his own, saw no reason to when his days were so busy and every ounce of power he had could be put to better use.

Regardless, it was normal enough to sense Ben shifting in the night, sometimes murmuring in his sleep, sometimes huffing in discomfort as he stared at the ceiling, hands laced beneath his head.

Every time, BB-8 had remained quiet. He remained quiet now as Ben sighed and rolled, punching at his pillow and muttering. Ben always fought sleep, went to bed later than everyone else and roused himself earlier even though he often looked waxen with dark bruises under his eyes. Eventually he settled—he always did—and never seemed to recall the demons that clung to him in the deepest hours of the night.

BB-8 had once thought to ask Luke about it, but he’d refrained every time the thought occurred to him, believing Ben’s privacy was more important. He got so little of it otherwise, guarded it so jealously from everyone except for BB-8, that BB-8 couldn’t bring himself to break that trust.

But tonight was different. Tonight, that muttering turned to shouts and fearful groans and whimpers and back to shouts again. And the rolling he did turned to tossing, violent and unexpected, startling BB-8 enough that he nearly dislodged the docking support that kept him in place while he charged. His dome swivelling, he caught sight of Ben sitting up, stock still, tears in his eyes that he didn’t or couldn’t wipe away.

He was staring at BB-8 and BB-8, in turn, was frozen, caught in the misery of Ben’s gaze. It made him look so much younger than his years, even to BB-8 who wasn’t always the best judge.

“Fuck,” Ben swore, vehement, finally drawing his palm across his eyes in a jerky, almost unreal motion. “Fuck.”

BB-8 pulled himself free of the support and rolled toward the edge of Ben’s bed, knocking against the bedpost.

“I’m fine.” Ben’s voice wavered, bending down to absently pat BB-8 on the dome, but BB-8’s sensors noted the clamminess of Ben’s skin, the coolness and perspiration that coated his palm. “Just a dream.”

No droid could have the Force, that special intuition that Jedi all seemed to share, but BB-8 knew a lie when he heard one and he certainly knew when it was Ben who was telling it.

He just didn’t know what to do with that knowledge now that he had it. He’d never figured it out before and it shouldn’t have felt so different now, but the same despairing sensation blitzed through him as did when he came across a mechanical problem he couldn’t solve on his own. It didn’t feel right that Ben should suffer so much from a dream, a thing he hadn’t chosen for himself to experience, a thing BB-8 couldn’t commiserate with him about because droids didn’t dream.

_Ben, I’m sorry_.

The sound of a wet, shivering breath rattled and seemed to reverberate through the room. His nails scraped and caught on BB-8’s dome, something like the way some of the other students sometimes pet the friendlier of the local wildlife. BB-8 couldn’t tell who it was supposed to comfort, himself or Ben, but he didn’t try to stop Ben from doing it.

_Can I help?_

“No,” Ben said, sharp, volatile. He pulled his hand away with vicious eagerness and pushed himself as far to the other side of his small bed as he could, as far from BB-8 as was possible. There was anger now in his tone, deep and entrenched, like it had always been there, like it would never leave. “I already said I was okay. Okay?”

BB-8 didn’t agree, but he didn’t want to hurt Ben further, so he offered his agreement.

And though he’d never considered wandering the halls and the outdoors before, he went ahead and did it tonight, rolling slowly so as to best avoid the sound of his chassis striking stone and duracrete waking the others.

**+92 weeks post wipe**

The hangar was empty when BB-8 entered it, a large sheet of oilcloth covering the ship Ben had taken as his own, the one they’d spent so much of their time fixing and adjusting and fine-tuning it.

This was the third time in as many days that Ben had told BB-8 to meet him here only to find the place entirely empty.

And even though Ben hadn’t ever showed in the days prior, BB-8 stayed.

Just in case.

**+107 weeks post wipe**

Ben had grown more distant, more moody of late. In such slow measures that BB-8 couldn’t quite pinpoint where and when it had happened, how one day Ben was there and the next he seemed cold and formal and unhappy. It was clear he didn’t want BB-8 around as much, didn’t ask him to help or inquire as to how his day was nor even suggested that he perhaps help some of the other students with their projects like he used to. When BB-8 came back to Ben’s room at night, he barely acknowledged him, his head buried instead in one pad while he typed on another.

BB-8 had learned not to ask what he was doing. When Ben answered, it was only in the vaguest of terms. And when Ben didn’t answer, he chose instead to remind BB-8 it was none of his business.

Everything, it seemed, was no longer BB-8’s business.

So BB-8 didn’t intend to find Ben. It just sort of happened that way.

Luke’s school was a small place. Even if they had an entire planet to themselves, the grounds only stretched so far; there were only so many places a person or droid could go. If Ben wanted to be alone, that was fine. BB-8 could make that happen.

Except when, apparently, he could not.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Luke had asked him to take a few scans of the paths that led away from the school and into the nearby rock-strewn woods. Something about survival training and wanting to ensure that his students wouldn’t face any dangers until Luke was ready for them to. It was something to do since Ben didn’t want him around.

He heard breathing first, ragged and pained. His audioreceptors were sensitive enough to pick up sound from miles away if need be. And then, they didn’t have to be sensitive at all. That ragged, pained breathing turned into a gnashing, persistent wail. It was almost inhumane in its intensity and if BB-8 didn’t know any better, he might have mistaken it for a wounded forest creature.

BB-8 stilled and shut down his scanners, dimming the lights on his round little frame as he swivelled his dome. The noise had sounded as though it might be coming from anywhere, bouncing off the bare trees. Birds scattered in the late-afternoon light, scattering like sprays of dark-shaded blaster fire, not that BB-8 knew much about blaster fire, just what he’d seen while flying with Ben, the pair of them practicing destroying chunks of space rock on the few occasions Luke had let them leave atmo.

For a long time, BB-8 did nothing. And he did nothing because he knew who’d made that sound, knew, too, that Ben wouldn’t want him here and wouldn’t have wanted him to hear him.

But the part of BB-8 that Ben had used to encourage, a small piece of him that bucked orders and did what he wanted, was more powerful than the algorithms in his processor that registered as common sense. Even though he knew better, he couldn’t help but take an infrared scan and triangulate the direction the noise had actually come from. Which was good, because now there was no noise at all save the crunch of pebbles and the snap of twigs as BB-8 rolled across the slightly inconvenient terrain.

It didn’t occur to him to broadcast his presence, to trill out a signal so that Ben would know he wasn’t alone, but as soon as he did find him, BB-8 wished he had, because he didn’t want to see Ben as he was. Tucked into the shattered, splintered trunk of a tree, his arms curled around his knees, he seemed nearly invisible, small and unimportant compared to the hurricane-force destruction that had taken place around him.

Caused, presumably, by him and the lightsaber abandoned some feet from where he sat.

Long gouges, dark with char, covered the ground and some of the trees that remained standing. A bush that had been slashed in half still glowed along the edges, leaves curling and going black as they cooled. BB-8 hoped it didn’t catch fire.

Though Ben was silent now, the curved line of his spine hitched on every uneven inhalation and exhalation. Surely, though, he was aware of BB-8’s presence. He had to be. Ben was one of the most observant people BB-8 knew.

And yet.

He hadn’t so much as flinched since BB-8 had seen him.

BB-8 wanted to go to him, but he was afraid. Afraid that Ben would push him away. A little afraid, too, that Ben might lash out and hurt him accidentally or, worse, purposefully.

But he couldn’t just leave Ben like this either, could he? Something had happened here to Ben, something big. Maybe it had been happening to him for a long time. BB-8 knew he was suffering through something, the nightmares were enough to suggest that, but he still had no idea what. Or how it had come to Ben destroying a section of the woods, alone and so very scared.

_Ben,_ BB-8 finally trilled, hesitant, and then louder when Ben didn’t react. _Ben!_

Ben more than flinched, his entire body jolting upright as he scrambled to somehow push himself into the obliterated tree he was leaning against. His eyes were bright and ferociously wild. His hair, normally drawn back, clung in sweaty, stringy clumps to his forehead and cheeks. His face, red and splotchy, twisted with disgust and recriminations as he realized what was going on.

“Get away.” Ben’s voice was so low that it didn’t even sound like it belonged to him anymore. It filled itself with the promise of violence, a threat that BB-8 couldn’t be sure wasn’t real. This wasn’t Ben, BB-8 was sure of it, but it was Ben, too. His voice suddenly lifted in a shout, in a scream. Full of terror and hatred, it reverberated through the destruction around them, all but made the land shiver in fear, too. “Beebee-Ate, get the fuck out of here.”

BB-8 rolled backward at the vehemence of Ben’s tone, the sheer, unadulterated anger in it. _But—_

“Go!”

BB-8, unable now to think past his own shock and fright, went.

Scans forgotten, he kept well away from the school, from Ben’s room, from the training grounds, everywhere Ben might have conceivably shown up.

He didn’t feel any better for avoiding him.

And Ben didn’t seek him out.

**+129 weeks post wipe**

It never became easier to avoid Ben, not even after months of practice doing just that. BB-8 sometimes saw him in the halls, but he veered away and Ben never stopped to try to speak with him, never asked him to come back, never told him to wait.

It became normal to spend his time with R2-D2 instead, to fuss over the work he did for Luke instead of contributing to the work he and Ben had once shared. When he looked toward the tarp that covered Ben’s ship, he imagined the metal turning to rust beneath the thin sheet of fabric and mourned for what it should have been.

**+157 weeks post wipe**

The ground shivered and the air cracked. Fire and smoke engulfed the sky to the east.

Somehow, BB-8 knew Ben was responsible.

**+0 weeks post wipe**

“Hey, buddy,” a voice said: unfamiliar but kind, warm. Welcoming. BB-8 didn’t know how he knew that or why it mattered that the voice was kind, but he did and it did. Bringing his photoreceptor online, he swivelled his dome toward the source of the sound and adjusted the resolution and clarity until it was correct. The man the voice belonged to smiled and nodded, encouraging. “I could use your help.”

_Who are you?_

The man had to wait for his pad to translate, impatience flaring in his eyes as he tapped at the screen. _Gotta learn binary_ , he muttered, _shoulda done it sooner_. “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron. I’m a pilot.”

_I’m…_ He hesitated for a moment, searching his databanks for what should have been an easy answer. _BB-8_.

“Nice to meet you, Beebee-Ate.” Poe’s eyes scanned the room around them, a large hangar. BB-8 didn’t think he’d ever been in a place so big before. Of course, he didn’t remember being many places since he was brought off the assembly line either. “I’m pretty new here, too, so you’ll have to forgive me. I might not be the best person to show you around, but I’ll certainly try.”

_I won’t hold it against you_ , BB-8 answered, because he thought Poe might like it. He had that kind of demeanor and BB-8 knew he was right when Poe laughed and patted him on his chassis.

“I think we’re gonna get along great,” Poe said, still laughing.

**+283 weeks post wipe**

Stunned silence greeted BB-8 and Poe as they exited their X-wing. Stunned silence because nobody would quite believe what had happened. Stunned silence because Kylo Ren had, at the last, crucial moment, when victory was assured for his forces, flinched.

He’d more than flinched. 

He’d turned on his own people.

Piloting his TIE Silencer, he’d chased Poe’s X-wing around the sky above Haridon Beta while Black Squadron completed a crucial mission for the Resistance, gathering intel about the base there. BB-8 had been certain this was it, that one or the other ship was going to be destroyed. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, the thought of it upset him. His loyalty was to Poe and Kylo Ren was the enemy. Even so, there was something familiar about the pattern of Kylo’s flight and it made BB-8 uneasy to target the ship for Poe.

It didn’t matter, though. Kylo managed to maneuver out of the way at the last moment every time. Whatever BB-8 did to give Poe the advantage, Kylo just outmanuevered him, sending token shots and volleys back. It was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. If his goal was to confuse Poe, though, it was obviously working.

The whole time he was flying, Poe wondered aloud just what in the hell Kylo was doing, what game he was playing, frantically trying to figure out the angle that best explained why nobody was really stopping them from doing what they’d gone there to do.

“Eyes open,” Poe’d warned, while his team scanned and skimmed data and did everything they could to wring every ounce of information out of the place that they could get. “I’ve got Ren.”

_What are we doing,_ BB-8 asked, a plaintive trill in his vocoder. 

“I’m not sure, buddy,” Poe answered, worried as he performed a corkscrew maneuver to get himself away from a half-heartedly lobbed string of laser fire.

Unlike Kylo, he gave it his all with his answering volley, weapons at max, so many bolts even BB-8 could have lost count if he didn’t make a point of keeping track of how full the gas canisters remained.

“Poe, we’ve got it!” Jess shouted, to jubilant laughter from the rest of the team.

“Alright,” Poe answered, “get your asses back to base, I’m gonna— _whoa_.”

The Silencer dove through the lower atmosphere, fast as a bird of prey. Now he took his weapons array seriously. Suddenly, his weapons were hot and not in the least bit lazy as shot after shot was fired at the First Order installation he was supposed to be here to protect.

_Poe?_

“Yeah, I know.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Orders stand, team. Beebs and I are going to stick around and find out just what in the hell is going on here.”

“Oh, come on! No way,” Wexley said. 

“Yes, you are,” Poe replied, words strained. “That intel is important. We have to know what kind of weapons are coming out of this place and there are still fighters and turbolasers on the ground. It has to get back to General Organa. But this isn’t right. He just—” As though to undermine the point, a section of the base exploded in a fireball, smoke and debris and dust forming a red-white-orange mushroom cap.

And then another section of the base blew up, less impressive, but equally surprising. BB-8 couldn’t glean much from this far away, but what rudimentary scans he could manage suggested the rest of the base was unstable. Primed to go.

At this rate, there wasn’t going to be a base left to worry about.

“Holy shit,” Wexley said, a fresh peal of laughing disbelief caught in his voice. Under his breath, he said something to the effect of, _did you see that? That was the ground-to-air weapons’ arrays, right, Karé?_ “You were saying, boss?”

“Do not engage,” Poe said, a note of defeat in his tone to counteract Wexley’s joy, a severity that BB-8 had rarely heard. He didn’t like this, that much was clear, and he wanted his people safe. “Black Squadron, hang back. I’ll take care of this. Be ready in case they’re able to scramble any TIEs.”

“Sure thing. Go get the bastard, no big deal. Good plan.” Wexley sounded somewhat dubious to BB-8’s audioreceptors, as though he didn’t trust that Poe could do that and didn’t particularly want to stay behind.

“My thoughts exactly,” Poe answered, not fazed in the slightest.

Wexley sighed and BB-8 knew Poe’d won. “I’m sure General Organa would be happy to have him back. We’ll keep an eye out from up here.”

“Thanks, Snap.”

“You need any help, just let us know.”

Though BB-8 couldn’t see it, he was certain Poe rolled his eyes.

**+283 weeks and one hour post wipe**

The wreckage of Poe’s X-wing, not _Black One_ , never _Black One_ , not even when maintenance had offered to repaint his second favorite ship the infamous black-and-orange, smouldered in the nearby grass where it landed, a long, dirt-filled gouge trailing in its wake. Kylo Ren’s Silencer was in even worse shape, twisted and broken beyond repair just a little further afield.

In the distance, black smoke climbed toward the sky.

It was a wonder that Kylo had survived at all, though he struggled, stumbling out of the hatch.

“Pardon my language,” Poe said, daring, “but what the fuck?” He raised his blaster a little straighter even though all three of them knew it didn’t matter. There’s not a perfectly aimed shot in the galaxy that would get through Kylo’s defenses if he didn’t want it to. BB-8 had heard about how Kylo Ren could stop blaster bolts; he was that quick, that capable. Poe could shoot at him all day; it wouldn’t make a difference.

Kylo staggered a little, face hidden behind his mask. It was different than the one BB-8 was familiar with: more menacing, smooth and perfectly formed, nothing at all like the holos BB-8 had seen and was far more familiar with. His robes might have been tattered, torn in his escape from his ship, but they were dark and polished, nothing like the ragged-edged cowls and robes he’d worn once upon a time, an unfinished villain in an unfinished uniform.

Going still as a statue, Kylo raised his hands.

And he stopped in his tracks. “That’s my droid,” he said, shock registering even through the distortion of his vocoder, shock that was somehow matter-of-fact, certain.

Rolling backward, BB-8 twisted his dome in denial. BB-8 would have known if he’d ever worked with Kylo Ren. He would know.

_What’s he talking about?_

“I don’t know, buddy,” Poe said, sympathetic and concerned, but it was a lie. BB-8 could hear it in his voice. Poe never lied. He was bad at it. To Kylo, he said, slow and full of some meaning that BB-8 didn’t understand, “You must have hit your head or something.”

Poe stepped in front of BB-8, raised his blaster again in illustration of the very real point that he was willing to fight this out here and now. But Ren didn’t seem to care in the slightest that Poe was even more determined, too focused on BB-8 to register Poe as a threat. His gloved fingers caught on the edge of his helmet. The helmet released with a hiss.

And then it was thrown to the ground. Battered, bruised, scarred, he may have been, but there was something familiar about his face, the sloping lines and harsh angles, but nothing registered. It never had. Kylo Ren was the enemy, faceless or not.

And now that he was so very not faceless, emotions triggered in rapid-fire succession, too fast for BB-8 to accurately gauge what they were or why he was experiencing them. He felt strange, like there was a wire malfunctioning inside of him.

“Oh,” Kylo said, so quiet that BB-8 almost couldn’t hear him. “Of course.” His chest rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath. His attention turned to Poe and his voice grew louder and clear, professional and purposeful. “I wish to turn myself over to Resistance custody. I feel like blowing up one of my own weapon factories is enough to warrant a meeting with General Organa?”

“If you think I believe you,” Poe answered, “you’re going to have to do better than that to sell me on it. What the hell is your angle?”

“No angle. I’m sure Resistance intelligence has informed you that there are… malcontents within the First Order leadership.”

That, at least, even BB-8 knew was true.

“I want those people dead more than I want you dead. There have been alliances made between parties with less common ground than that,” Kylo said. “Does that convince you?”

“No. All that tells me is you might want us to do your dirty work for you. Doesn’t stop it from being a trap.”

Kylo rolled his eyes and freed a large ring of metal from his robes. “Do you know what this is?” He threw it at Poe, who caught it deftly despite only having the use of one hand to do it. And though BB-8 worried that it was some kind of trick or distraction, Kylo merely stood there, as patient as he knew how to be. Based on the way he was frowning and twitching his hands into fists and back flat again, it wasn’t very.

“Yeah,” Poe said, “looks like a Force-suppressant device.” He spoke in an offhand manner, casual, like it wasn’t at all interesting to him that it was now in his possession. “But it could be a fancy, blinking chunk of metal for all I know. What of it?”

He lobbed it back at Kylo, who handled it with a lot more reverence than Poe did, brushing his fingers across its surface with shaking hands. And then he lifted it to his neck and closed it around his throat. His mouth pulled in a pained grimace before settling into a discomfited line.

Poe lifted his blaster, aimed for the middle of Kylo’s forehead. There was no doubt in BB-8’s mind that Poe would’ve been able to take that shot if he wanted to. For some reason, he didn’t want to. “Assuming it’s not a lie, you wouldn’t be able to deflect the bolt.”

“Go ahead.” Kylo even took a few steps forward. “I’m sure the Resistance would be relieved. You could even pretend I died crashing my ship if you wanted to pretend it wasn’t me you killed. You wouldn’t even have to admit to having murdered a man who wanted to surrender. Who’s Bee going to tell?”

BB-8 rolled toward Poe, nudged against Poe’s heels. He didn’t—he wasn’t sure that Poe wouldn’t do it, but he assumed… he assumed he wouldn’t. Hoped, maybe. Poe wouldn’t have wanted it on his conscience and something in BB-8 felt it was the wrong thing to do, genuinely believed Kylo when he said he wanted to surrender. _Poe_ …

Kylo looked down at him, curious, hurt, more vulnerable than BB-8 thought a man like him should have been capable of looking. It made BB-8 uneasy.

Making a frustrated sound, Poe holstered his weapon. “Beebs, if he moves the wrong way, I want you to shock him.” Pulling his comm from his flight suit, he said, “Karé, I need you to sit tight with me at the coordinates I’m sending you. Snap, Jess? Head back to base and get a shuttle and a full team of security personnel. We’ve got ourselves a prisoner to transport.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Snap said.

“You’ve got your orders,” Poe said, serious, closing down the line of communication. Grinning at Kylo, he added, “Looks like we’ll be sitting tight a little while longer. Hope you don’t mind getting comfortable.”

**+284 weeks post wipe**

BB-8 didn’t often have free time around the base. There was almost always something to do and when there wasn’t, Poe had a way of finding work that hadn’t been completed in the normal course of the working day. It was always important work, to be sure, but it kept him from roaming the halls and doing his own thing. He liked it, mostly because Poe always worked at least as hard as he did. Most of the time he worked even harder. And because the work they did was so important, people’s lives were saved. People were freed, little by little, from the tyranny of the First Order. That was a good thing and BB-8 didn’t mind in the slightest.

But it did make it hard for BB-8 to do some of the things he wanted to do on the rare occasions he wanted to do them. Like now.

_Poe,_ he said, the minute they were done completing their maintenance check on _Black One-II_ for the day. It was still being fussy, not at all up to his standards or Poe’s, and they’d been working on it for weeks as they made it earn the name Poe had jokingly, longingly given to it. For whatever reason, he wanted this ship to replace _Black One_.

“Yeah, bud,” Poe replied, drawing his sweat-and-grease-streaked arm across his equally grimy forehead. “What’s up?”

BB-8 hesitated, his processors slow to conjure the right combination of words. But with Poe, the best approach had always been the most direct one, so even when he failed to come up with an appropriate choice, he said, _I want to speak with Kylo Ren_.

“You want—why do you want to talk to him?” Poe squinted down at him, head tilted in shuttered curiosity.

_I… don’t know. I feel like I need to. I can’t explain it. I wish I could._

“Beebs, I’m not sure he’s accepting visitors down in lockup.” And BB-8 knew that, he did. In fact, the only person he was willing to see was General Organa and those meetings never seemed to go well if her thunderous features afterward were anything to go by. But determination settled like a glaze across Poe’s eyes, shining and purposeful. “But let’s see what we can do, huh?”

As it turned out, it was as easy as Poe taking the request to General Organa, who relayed it to the security deck, who asked Kylo Ren.

They got their answer almost immediately, while the general, Poe, and BB-8 were still in her office.

General Organa, kindly and with a small degree of dry humor, said, “Let me know if you manage to get anything useful out of him.”

_I thought he was cooperating_.

“Oh, he is,” the general said. “But he won’t talk to me about—it doesn’t matter. I just think he needs to talk to someone. Might as well be you, right?”

There was something she wasn’t saying, but BB-8 couldn’t quite figure it out. It was in the way she wouldn’t quite meet his photoreceptor maybe. _Yes, of course. I’ll try, but…_

But he thought perhaps this was more than he really wanted to sign on for. All he really knew was he’d felt an undeniable urge to see him. That didn’t mean he wanted to become General Organa’s best hope for getting Kylo Ren—her son—to speak to someone. Who was BB-8 to Kylo Ren, after all? He was just an astromech and an enemy at that. Former enemy. Possible future enemy depending on how this all played out.

“I’m not asking for results,” General Organa assured him, still dry, though now a little sad. “But if you happen to see a chance…”

BB-8 tipped his dome in acknowledgment. _I will_.

“That’s all I can ask.” With a smile, she nodded at him in turn. “You’re welcome to go now if you’d like.”

Poe accompanied him down to the detention block. Rarely occupied, it was sometimes forgotten about, a piece of the base few people ever came to. Only rarely had anyone within the Resistance had to come here, the stress finally getting to be too much. BB-8 had never before had a reason to come here.

As he passed into the gloomy, miserable section, the gray duracrete walls grew even more ominous and unpleasant to look at. Water darkened sections of it at random intervals, soaking into them, leaving behind a lingering scent of mildew perhaps, nothing BB-8’s sensors could rightly distinguish. Maybe Poe would have a word for it if BB-8 asked, but BB-8 didn’t ask.

Instead, he focused on the way his metal body clicked against the unforgiving floor and tried not to feel self-conscious about the way the sound bounced and reverberated.

A guard met them at the door to the most central block of cells, unlocked the door with a code only he knew and snapped off a salute to Poe, who returned it with rather less enthusiasm than the man showed.

“He’s in 2A,” the guard said. “You won’t miss him.”

“Thanks,” Poe said. BB-8 considered saying the same, but the guard wasn’t paying him any attention anyway. It was enough that Poe had said it.

And BB-8’s mind was already on what he’d find in 2A.

Probably nothing worth the trip, nothing that would explain the niggling feeling of doubt inside of him.

“Ah,” Kylo said, well before he could possibly see BB-8 or Poe arriving. It made BB-8 wonder if someone had told him they were coming—possibly, probably even—or if he’d sensed…

But no, the collar was still wrapped around his throat, still flashing green, soothing light every few seconds. Kylo couldn’t sense them through the Force, then. 

So it was a guess. Or he’d been told.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,” Kylo continued. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t.”

At first, BB-8 thought Kylo was talking to Poe. Simply because most people talked to other organics first and only acknowledged droids after. But no, Kylo’s eyes were on BB-8. His hair fell into his eyes, lank, but clean. His skin was less pale than it had been on that planet’s surface. He looked remarkably good for someone being kept in lockup. There was no reason for BB-8 to be happy about that fact. Kylo was the enemy, after all. But he was relieved all the same.

So many monstrous things had been done in the course of this war. At least this wasn’t one of them.

_Why_ , BB-8 asked.

Kylo sighed, thoughtful, and looked into the middle distance. He was nothing at all like the man BB-8 had expected him to be. In fact, he hadn’t really expected a man at all. Sure, he’d heard Rey’s stories about him, how he wasn’t who he pretended to be, how he was more than that even if he didn’t allow himself to be.

He hadn’t liked those stories and he didn’t understand them.

But she’d been right; it was just a man sitting before him, a damaged one, not a maniac in a mask who was hellbent on destroying everything BB-8 cared for.

“You don’t have any reason to be here,” Kylo said, simple, and that was true enough. “Not that I can see.”

_I don’t_ , BB-8 replied. He tried to keep the plaintive, unhappy note out of his vocoder, but something in Kylo’s face twitched and he knew he’d failed.

“How far back do you remember?” Ren’s eyes found Poe’s for the brief span of a few moments. Whatever he saw there, it confirmed something for him, but BB-8 didn’t know what.

“We don’t do full wipes,” Poe said, tense, “if that’s what you’re asking. Not unless we have to.”

BB-8 spun and looked up at Poe. They’d never talked about it. To be honest, BB-8 had never asked. But it still didn’t sit right that Poe might know something that BB-8 didn’t.

“You didn’t think a full wipe was necessary?” Kylo asked, darkly amused.

“I had nothing to do with it, pal. I don’t know why you’re asking me about it.” Poe’s arms crossed and he looked so very confident in the petty brightness of his smile, but BB-8 could see there was a brittleness to it, too, that he didn’t understand.

Wipes were a fact of life for droids, but they still bothered BB-8 a little bit if he thought too hard about them. Apparently they’d given him a wipe, if not a complete one. A block maybe. If he prodded, he could sense it, a wall that he’d never noticed before.

That was probably what Kylo wanted, BB-8’s discomfort. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe he was imagining it.

_You said I was your droid_ , BB-8 said, firm, to Poe. Kylo was probably just trying to get under Poe’s skin and annoy BB-8 in the process. BB-8 couldn’t guess what purpose it served, but that hardly mattered. People justified many bizarre things to themselves. _From before I got wiped_.

But instead of getting what BB-8 thought he wanted, an answer or even Kylo’s hatred directed at him, at least those would make sense, BB-8 got a flash of hurt—genuine hurt, pain that even BB-8 could recognize as real and true—quickly smothered beneath a sneer. “It was probably for the best.”

And instead of confirmation from Poe, he got silence.

It made BB-8 uneasy that perhaps in this case, that might have been true. What kind of droid could BB-8 have possibly been if Kylo was right? But he felt a twinge of something in his circuits, a tangle where the block had been placed. He could probably have undone it if he wanted.

If the person who did it, Leia maybe, or Poe himself, had really wanted him not to know…

BB-8 made a quizzical sound at Poe.

Shaking his head, Poe shrugged, and wouldn’t look at BB-8. “It wasn’t me,” he said, knowing exactly what BB-8 was asking. At least this time, he answered. “If you want to break it, I’ll back you up.” His eyes settled on Kylo’s face, a curious, distrustful look on his own. “Kylo Ren wasn’t always a monster. You might be one of the only other beings in the galaxy besides his mother who can prove that.”

Kylo didn’t look back. No, his attention was still entirely on BB-8.

“I wish I was a monster,” Kylo replied, otherwise entirely indifferent to Poe’s presence. “That would make things easier.”

_Why did you do it,_ BB-8 asked, backing away from the knotted ball of coding that held his memories at bay. _Why did you help us?_

“I told you already.” He got to his feet and stepped toward the force field that hummed and twined itself between the old-fashioned metal bars they kept in case the power failed. “What I said is true.” He paused, his anger twisting his features. “I want them obliterated.”

_But—_ and BB-8 stopped himself because he wasn’t sure, really, what there was to argue. The point was he was here now. He was cooperating even if he wasn’t as forthright as General Organa wanted him to be. He’d apparently passed every vetting measure she could think of and then some.

“You don’t have to remember,” Kylo said. “But you deserve to know I always regretted… well. You were always there for me. I can recognize that now. It’s probably selfish to want you to know that, but I do.”

“‘Probably,’” Poe said with a scoff, crouching to press his hand protectively against BB-8’s body. “I think we’re done for now.”

_But I want to…_ But Poe was right. He probably wouldn’t get anything he wanted out of Kylo now. And he needed some time to sort himself out. His photoreceptor stayed on Kylo’s face, searching out anything that might give him a better clue about what he should do. There was nothing but an empty unhappiness that BB-8 couldn’t decipher to his own satisfaction. _Yeah, okay_.

He could only hope time would help him learn how to do it.

**+284 weeks and three days post wipe**

BB-8 paced his and Poe’s quarters, rolling back and forth across the unforgiving carpet, thoughts whirling around in his processors. They caught and cut themselves on the block, snagged at the edges of it, tugged just this little bit or that at the boundaries. It mocked him, this knowledge he now knew was there, but couldn’t access.

It had bothered him since Kylo had forced him to confront it and he still didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t complete his tasks optimally with this spanner in the works, but he also feared what he would learn if he took this step. 

Wipes mostly weren’t about protecting droids, but he thought maybe this single instance maybe it was for the best. 

_What would Poe do,_ he asked. When he’d tried asking him, several times, Poe’s already said he wouldn’t influence BB-8’s decision. It was his to make. And though BB-8 could see the certainty in Poe’s eyes—he knew exactly what he would have done in BB-8’s position—he refused to give BB-8 any indication as to what it was.

Sometimes, BB-8 thought he could hate Poe.

Okay, he couldn’t, but part of him wished he could.

Poe would… he would go with his gut. And his gut often made him take the biggest risks he could. If Poe had to do this, he would choose the scarier option.

Finding the fraying edges of the block, he tore and tore at them. Memories flashed across his processors in a deluge, a lifetime of them. R—Ben crouched before him. Ben laughing. Ben studying. Ben and Ben and Ben, his every mood flickering across BB-8’s awareness. A Ben who wasn’t yet the creature he’d become.

But BB-8 could see the progression as clearly as though Kylo were standing before him now, all the evidence he’d have ever needed.

How hadn’t they seen? Him or Luke or any of the other students?

Ben was ultimately responsible for what he’d done, but…

He remembered how between one moment and the next, Ben was gone.

He remembered trailing after R2-D2 in the flaming wreckage, searching and searching, hoping to find Ben and fearful of it at the same time.

He remembered seeing Luke pull himself free of the crumbled heap that was the small, cramped structure that was as close to a home as he and Ben had. He saw and when Ben didn’t emerge, real pain, terrible and deep, sliced through his processors.

Devastation and fear made Luke look crazed, the fire catching in his eyes.

“He did this,” he’d said, and the vehemence of his tone left no room to ask who ‘he’ was. They knew.

BB-8 remained locked in indecision, his grief coursing back and forth across his processors.

Ben may have failed them all, but they’d failed him, too.

BB-8 just didn’t know what there was to be done about it now.

**+284 weeks, three days, twenty-six minutes post wipe**

Even if BB-8 had wanted to approach Ben’s cell quietly, there was no way he could, not when the ground was so unforgiving. The metal bits of him clicked and clacked and for maybe the first time, BB-8 kind of wished he was an organic, capable of wearing soft-soled shoes or nothing at all on his feet, able to walk without alerting everyone around him where he was and where he was going.

“Hey, Beebs,” Poe said as he approached. There was a relaxed smile on his mouth. He took a handful of steps away from the cell and offered Ben a wave of farewell. “I’ll, uh, leave you two to it.”

“You’re back,” Ben—and he was Ben, BB-8 couldn’t think of him now as Kylo, not even despite how much he wanted to. He didn’t move from the edge of his cot, where he looked as though he’d remained there since the last time they spoke, unmoving and unmoved.

_What was that about,_ BB-8 asked once Poe was gone.

“An apology,” Ben answered, vague. “Long overdue.”

For a long moment, BB-8 could say nothing. The cellblock was otherwise silent, so quiet that BB-8 could hear the near inaudible sound of Ben’s breathing. _I know what happened_ , he said finally, because it was what Poe would do; he’d bluster past all of his compunctions in order to get at the root of the problem.

He’d have saved being hurt for later, once all that was left was fallout.

The cot creaked as Ben shifted, leaned even further forward and bowed his head. His hair fell across his eyes, covered the scarred half of his face, hid from BB-8 his reaction to the news. BB-8 didn’t even know what he wanted or expected from him, but BB-8 knew it wasn’t this.

His hands hung between his knees and they shook until he clasped them together.

_Why did you come back_ , BB-8 asked, because he couldn’t stand the way Ben did nothing with this information. He could have been a statue while every wire in BB-8’s body seemed poised to fry itself in anticipation of what Ben would do.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so composed when BB-8 felt like he would fall apart.

_You had no reason to come back._ And BB-8 knew it was hurtful to say that. There was every reason in the galaxy for him to come back, but those reasons had always been there and they hadn’t enticed him back before. _What changed?_

“I’m tired,” Ben said, like pulling teeth or torture. “I’m so damned tired of it all. And what Hux wants… I wouldn’t have been able to stop him forever.” Ben lifted his eyes after an eternity and searched BB-8’s features for signs of something. “There’s no such thing as order. Vader couldn’t do it. Palpatine. Even Snoke. Snoke got what he wanted and it did nothing to change reality. What Hux wants is more than that and I wouldn’t give it to him.” He bit his lip and looked away. “Is that enough? I don’t know.”

_The Dark Side…_ BB-8 had heard tales, knew that it wasn’t as easy as Ben was saying to come back from it. Otherwise, wouldn’t Ben have come back already, too?

Then again, he knew the stories of Anakin Skywalker’s redemption. Luke had told them to him; he’d told them to Ben. Sometimes all a person needed was a push.

“I’ll never be free of it,” Ben said, as though agreeing. His brows furrowed as he closed his eyes, his attention fading. “I could feel it still if I wanted to.”

_How are you stopping it?_

Ben tapped at the collar still wrapped around his throat. “When I was bonded with Rey, I saw what happened to Luke. If closing yourself off from the Force was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me. This is only here for your comfort. I’d already thoroughly cut myself off from it before that. Dameron could’ve shot me where he found me and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. Even if I’d wanted to.”

_Why?_ BB-8 wondered if doing something like that was like having a block in place, but his one was purposefully done. And Ben was perfectly aware of just what he’d lost. 

At least BB-8 had gotten to forget. 

What could Ben forget?

“I thought things would be better if I became what I was,” Ben said. “It didn’t. Now I have to become something else.”

_Who you were?_

Ben laughed, bitter. “I don’t think I can.”

_I liked who you were,_ BB-8 said, a ridiculous statement if ever there was one. He couldn’t get that Ben back. And that Ben wasn’t even happy. 

There was nothing to be happy about now. 

“I shouldn’t.” Ben nodded, adamant. “Too much has happened. I can’t ignore it. But I can rain down hell on our enemies. I can help destroy them. Like you do. And Dameron. My mother. And everyone here who puts their lives at risk for their Rebellion. It feels like the only thing I can do now.”

His lips pursed and his fingers twined in his lap. Neither he nor BB-8 said anything, the silence between them that of close compatriots rather than deadly enemies.

“Will you help me?” Ben finally asked. 

And BB-8 said yes. Because Ben had been kind once, and troubled, and they’d loved one another, more than droid and owner, as friends, as equals. 

He said yes because he wanted to; he’d always helped Ben before. 

He realized now he always will. 

**+356 weeks post wipe**

Fireworks danced and shimmered across the sky, each one punctuated by raucous booms and sharp shrieks, from explosion and viewer alike. BB-8 didn’t think he’d ever seen so many of the Resistance’s crew gathered in one place. 

Of course, they’d always needed someone on duty before.

Now, there was no First Order to monitor or fight or rebel against. The First Order was dead, scattered across the stars as so much floating space junk.

And good riddance. 

As he wound his way through the crowd, he caught sight of Black Squadron laughing and throwing their arms around each other, Snap and Karé holding one another close and swaying, Snap picking her up and swinging her around finally. Jess pulled Suralinda into a hug before bending down to press a kiss to her astromech’s blinking, rotating dome. Poe, clapping each of them on the shoulder, broke into a jog as soon as he saw Finn, crossing the tarmac with as much speed as he could, pushing politely, though not too politely, through the throngs of people to reach him.

Poe’d made sure to tell him not to let Ben sulk all night; BB-8 intended to see that request through.

General Organa found herself surrounded by her closest officers. A smile BB-8 has never seen bloomed bright on her face. As her mouth moved, she leaned in, D’Acy and the others leaning in, too, happy to hear whatever she had to say to them, drinking it in as their faces lit up in shades of blue and red and green.

It made BB-8 curious, too, but he was on his own mission.

His photoreceptor scanned the crowd, identifying the entire roster of Resistance crew on record. It was entirely possible it wasn’t up-to-date; they’d gained so many new recruits in those last days, that last push. But Ben registered easily. Or should have. If he was around. 

Which apparently he wasn’t. 

General Organa’s attention caught his, her senses finely attuned to her surroundings, and she jerked her head, like she knew exactly what he wanted. When BB-8 looked in the indicated direction, a stretch of grass nearly hidden by the massive hangar, he caught sight of a tiny triangle of black, the top of a boot. Turning his sensors in that direction, they immediately gave Ben away.

BB-8 dipped his dome in thanks and rolled toward the only person on the entire base who’d apparently decided being alone was the best way to spend his time. 

In turn, BB-8 decided the best way to spend his time was rolling repeatedly into the sole of Ben’s boot to get his attention. 

“Hey,” he said feelingly, so changed from the man he’d been before. Even though BB-8 knew little about spirits, the essences of organics, Ben seemed lighter than before. Happier, maybe. “You’re kind of heavy.”

_And you’re behaving like a—_

Ben pushed himself up onto his elbows and lifted his palm. “I don’t want to hear whatever new curse word Artoo taught you.”

_Actually, it was Poe, but the point stands._

With a lopsided smile and a roll of his eyes, Ben flopped back, stretching himself across the grass, taking up as much space as he wanted and then some. Sighing, he tipped his head up and closed his eyes. “Poe’s a menace.”

That was true. BB-8 couldn’t deny it.

_You’re missing the party_ , BB-8 pointed out. _There are fireworks_.

“Am I?” Ben’s mouth twitched. “And I’ve seen fireworks before. Better ones than this even.”

BB-8 swiveled to look at the various clumps of people. Some of them were now dancing. Did Ben like to dance? BB-8 had no idea and Ben didn’t seem interested in getting up to do it. So BB-8 did the next best thing: he rolled in a wide arc and began to tap at Ben’s head.

_You helped do this. You deserve to be a part of it._

“I’m fine, Bee. I’m good. This is good. This is more than I expected.” He cracked open an eye and swatted BB-8 away. “This right here is what I want, even if it’s not what I deserve.”

_Ben…_

“I know.” Ben sighed. “I know. But it’s true.”

There would be no arguing with Ben when he got like this. Maybe when they’d had time to adjust, he’d figure it out. Either way, BB-8 intended to be there. If only to make him figure it out if need be.

_I guess the fireworks are pretty from over here. If you don’t mind the company_.

“I don’t mind the company,” Ben replied. And then, “Thank you. For everything.”

_It’ll be okay, you know that, right?_

Ben exhaled, scrubbing his hand over BB-8’s dome. “Yeah, Bee. I know.”

And for once, BB-8 was sure that Ben was telling the truth.


End file.
